


Sepia-Toned Memory

by stellarpromise



Series: Aurica's Backstory [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Murder-Suicide, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28542474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarpromise/pseuds/stellarpromise
Summary: Aurica's first experience with the Echo gives her a glimpse of her previous life.
Series: Aurica's Backstory [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090706
Kudos: 1





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Reupload to edit typos and embed image.   
> Please use this image as reference for the passage of time in the Diary!  
> 

Two weeks of riding, running, and walking later, Orika found herself standing before the least observed entrance to Yanxia, if the information she gathered from the pirates and peasants within the Ruby Sea had been correct. Grateful for the hefty supply of Dzo jerky she had received from the Dataqi for being zealous in the chores they'd assigned her, she nibbled on some of it and watched from the shadows. 

When some time had passed without her spotting a single patrol, she hurried in over rock and green earth to take shelter behind the rocky pillars of the valley. 

Orika was uncomfortably close to Doma Castle. It was said to have been beautiful once, but the cloudy sky and dreary atmosphere brought on by the general sorrow of any who talked about it only made it appear too-large and unsettling to her eyes.

She sat on the ground and took out an old map. The script was wholly unknown to her, but the cartographer had taken great care in detailing the shape of the land. Even if this was from before the ironmen claimed it for their home, she was sure it would prove useful. According to it, she would need to travel quite a ways to get to the nearest village. There was actually one closer, but it required a boat to access and to pass through the castle. She didn't favor either of those things.

Nodding to herself, she put the map away and watched the pattern of movements of the local creatures. Sneaking was not the Dotharli way, but she had a mission and didn't need to draw attention to herself fighting unfamiliar beasts. She would wait for her opportunity, then run past them.

——

It took Orika four more days to traverse the tight, mountainous passages and dense underbrush, but it was worth it as she didn't run into a patrol or even need to go past the castle grounds. Still, it felt as if there were near-constant eyes on her, and her sleep was light.

She stumbled past a small lake, quite exhausted. Seeing a few fish populated the water she ventured to sip from it, having run out of the stuff in her flask that morning and assuming it wouldn't be poison to her body. She hoped she wouldn't regret it later but was simply too tired for the usual precautions she was taught to take in unfamiliar territory.

There were more large creatures some ways away; striped and well-muscled. One eyed her and she felt its unspoken challenge, but in the humid heat of the afternoon, still wary of the enemy, she simply ignored it. There would be other days for combat.

Hydrated, she took in the environment. Yanxia really was quite a sight. The climate was tough to adjust to so far, but the abundance of green plants and water was a pleasing sight. Her warrior’s training noted the difficulties of defending oneself in such a location however, and part of her would always prefer home. When her eyes came to rest on the southern view, she could make out wooden buildings not unlike those she had passed in The Ruby Sea. Deciding to question the people there, she continued to avoid the main path and scaled up the side of the hills they rested on.

Evening had mostly set, so it was quiet. There was a soft glow coming through the spaces between the wood of a few buildings, likely cooking fires if the scent in the air was any indication. 

Although Orika was mostly unfamiliar with the customs of those outside the Steppe, she chanced a guess that it wouldn’t be wise to just call out her presence as she would back home. If things were as hostile as she had been warned, raising the alarm and potentially frightening these people into attacking would be...not good. As she thought over which home to approach and how to get their attention, the sharp intake of breath and clattering of wood had her wheel around, hand halfway to her weapon.

A hyur–young yet probably a good bit older than herself–had fallen on his rear and was scrambling back.

“A ghuh?”

“A...ghuh…?” she repeated slowly, confused. The tongues of most Xaela and their Doman neighbors were not so different...had their war changed them so much?

He squeaked out a reply in a small voice. “Ghost?”

“Ghost...a vengeful spirit?” 

Orika had heard tales of such things. Among her people, if you did not reincarnate you simply rested where Nhaama willed you. In a few tribes and with many other Domans it was said your soul could walk the realm unfettered to the body, in anguish. Looking around, she could see nothing related to any description from any...ah.

“You mean to say _I_ am a ghost? I am not.” 

The thought was somewhat insulting to her, in fact. Her displeasure must have been quite evident on her face for even in the low light he recoiled some more. With a sigh, she addressed him more softly.

“I have traveled far, Doman. I'm looking for something... and perhaps you could help me. My name is Orika, and I am of the Dotharl.”

The young man looked incredulous. He squinted at her, blinking a few times. Orika crossed her arms, growing impatient. 

“Why do you stare so? What has tangled your tongue?”

“You...are a kid,” he said, standing up.

“I am young, yes.”

Some foreigners were said to coddle their young for lengthy periods of time, leading to them underestimating the strengths of those like herself. With the often short lived Dotharl though, from the moment they could move on their own they were physically and mentally prepared for a life of combat and conflict. Her frown deepened at the perceived disrespect of the Doman, and she decided to ignore them and get the attention of another if they continued with their babbling. However, the next words out of his mouth caught her attention.

“Do you remember me?”

“If you have never roamed Reunion in the Steppe, this is our first meeting.”

“But the way you look, and your name...even your clothing. It's nearly all the same.”

Orika realized then what they were getting on about. “You...did you know the previous me?”

——

The man, Genta, requested she come with him and they entered his home, a few buildings away from where they'd been standing. He started a fire for warmth and lit a lamp for more light, and then set out to prepare a dish of rice. Orika sat quietly, watching the process from her seat cushion at the low table. She'd been asked to wait while he made dinner, as he needed to wake early the next day and couldn't pause in his routine. The young Au Ra took the time to think about what was happening.

In almost no time at all, here she was at the end of her journey. It was surreal coming to realize the answers had been so close at hand, and she thanked her god for the luck of the man surviving this long. Upon closer inspection he did not seem as if he ate very well, and his eyes were deeply tired. His home, like many of the others, seemed to be in a general state of disrepair, although it did look like he took care in keeping it neat.

Soon, the man had finished and placed a bowl of rice in front of her. She hadn't quite expected him to provide a meal for herself, and in response she rustled around in her satchel to pull out the last of the jerky to share with him as thanks. He watched her, his eyes falling on the weapons she carried.

“That was her staff, too...”

Orika returned to the table, offering him the meat and digging into the rice. She ate and waited for him to continue. He didn't disappoint, opening a hidden compartment in the floor nearby and pulling out an ornate box. Within it was a roughly bound book, weathering apparent but in decent condition all the same.

“My father attended to her in the castle. It was he that crafted the staff you carry. I didn't see her much, but I was among the last to see her alive. I carried her diary away, and a couple of us went back for you after...after you died, to bury you. We thought it might mark us as escapees though, if any of the Garleans saw your weapons during the raids on our homes, so we asked a familiar merchant to take them to your home.”

He pushed the book towards her.

“She spoke sometimes, about this life and the next. I thought she was just being spiritual and morbid, but she...you...were serious weren't you?”

Orika accepted the diary, nerves buzzing with anticipation. He went on.

“It's been more than 13 years since then but...I still haven't read it. You're back here now for that, right?”

She slowly opened to the first page, eyes falling on the top entry, and was struck by a vision.

11th Month – 3rd Waning Half Moon 

_Orika found herself back home in the camp of the Dotharl, completely confused by how she had gotten there. She was unable to control the movements of her body as it penned a few words into a loosely bound book and then carefully placed it into a sack filled with wrapped food and supplies not unlike those in her satchel. Another Au Ra approached her, his expression mostly bored. His eyes softened somewhat when he looked into hers. She felt her heart jump, and her body reached out, touching his shoulder. A voice she did not recognize came out of her mouth._

_“Yesun, it is time.”_

_The next series of images came in flashes: a mountain, a cave, a forest, battles with large mammals, crossing spell and blade with shimmering sea creatures, coming across a group of frightened villagers and defending them from people in metal clothing…_

She came to on the floor, breathing hard and feeling like her whole body was weighed down. 

“Hey, hey are you okay?”

“What happened to me…?”

“You were staring at the diary and suddenly fell over. Are you sick?” He picked up his rice and gave it a sniff. “I was sure this was still good...”

Orika shook her head and glanced at the diary. It was almost like… Was that vision a memory from her past life? Did the diary somehow let her see the past?

She moved to open it again, full of nervous excitement. This was better than she could have hoped for; actually seeing what happened. This time, the first entry did nothing to her when she read it, but the ink stain below it did.

??? Month – ??? Moon

_Orika was somewhere in Yanxia, if the castle in her peripheral vision was Doma’s as she thought. She was on the ground, one hand on the weapon she held before herself, and one outstretched before a group of civilians who couldn't stop trembling. Some three yalms away Yesun had taken a battle stance. His brow was creased in irritation, and the front of his clothing singed. Words were leaving Orika’s lips._

_“Do not do this Yesun.”_

_Her words were level; stern. They did not betray the anguish within her heart. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Their journey was meant to heal him, not…_

_“You turned your spells on me.”_

_“You wield your sword against those who do not fight for no better reason than to serve the wasted breath of the ironmen. Have you lost your pride as a warrior?”_

_“They have nothing to do with us Orika. Why do you always give yourself to weak strangers? We only need one another… and we can have that if we fight with these Garleans.”_

_Yesun relaxed his stance to free one hand and pointed to the handful of soldiers standing in guard formation around a jiao. Orika bared her teeth in an angry grimace. This entire encounter had happened because the group had been walking along the path, and ironmen decided they wanted them to move out of the way while marching towards them. They had struck out at a woman who hadn't moved fast enough, her form currently still unconscious on the ground, and Orika had chosen to fight back. Coming to realize they were the pair that had been causing trouble lately, after one soldier whispered to the figure hidden within the carriage, she and Yesun were given the ultimatum to serve or die. Yesun, always practical and ever uncaring, seemed fine with the idea, and for the first time, they were pushed to fight with one another._

_“You won't understand... or maybe you can't yet. But know I won't lay down my weapon first.”_

_With a yell she cast another fire, aiming for the hands holding onto his weapon. Once she put him down, she would turn on the rest of the ironmen. At first she worried the craven lot would attack her as well with how eager they looked, but they held back as one continued to whisper into the ornate bamboo carriage._

_Her exhaustion from the earlier battles had her limbs heavy, and Yesun's more erratic attacks wore her out further. The battle ended in his favor and she stared down the point of his blade._

_A hand reached out from a covered window of the jiao, and it waved dismissively. The soldiers raised their long, metal weapons and surrounded her. They were poised to end her life in that moment, but Yesun spoke up, not moving from his position._

_“Wait.”_

_Orika raised her eyes to his and found an emotion she couldn't read._

_“I will convince her to wield her weapon beside us... just give me time.”_

_There was a silence as the soldiers looked back to hear what the decision of their leader would be._

_A slow clap came from the direction of the Garleans, and a blond man somewhat younger than herself stepped out, chuckling softly as he stood._

_“What ferocity...what a wondrous spectacle. And curious, how you can go from so vicious to so tame,” he said. “I want to see more of this.”_

_The hand from earlier again reached out, making a shooing motion._

_“Excellent. Take the strays along with the lizardmen. They shall serve together in the castle.”_

_The ironmen nodded curtly and marched forward, picking up Orika and the unconscious woman from the ground and herding the others along to their destination. As they marched, a child lagging behind the others picked up a discarded book, hiding it within his shirt._

Orika blinked rapidly, once again noting she was in Genta's home. Everything in the visions felt so real...the sensations, the emotions... even the scents and sounds. Genta looked at her with concern, less frightened of her and now seemingly worried for her. 

“Are you okay…?”

She wasn't sure. The physical discomfort had lessened from the first vision, but she didn't like where things were going. Her stomach tightened and churned, but she wanted to see this through to the end. Until she finished it...she’d keep going.

“Yes. Do not worry, I am just remembering. Please, sleep. I will read through this.”

He looked at her and then to her unfinished food.

“Alright… My home is yours. You can leave the dish for me to clean in the morning. There’s a spare futon in the corner behind you.”

With that, he moved away from the table and rolled on his side to sleep. Orika turned her attention back to the diary.

12th Month – New Moon

_She sat within a back room of the castle; her current prison. A gnawing hunger clung to her stomach, providing a painful but needed distraction from everything around her. Her head turned to the sliding door expectantly. It opened, and there was Yesun._

_“You have healed.”_

_Orika kept her mouth closed in a hard line. It wasn't a question anyway._

_“Have you regained your sense?”_

_Her expression did not change. She stared down her partner evenly._

_“If you are not here to kill me, we have no business.”_

_He twisted his face into a frustrated frown. “For what do you cling on to resistance? There is nothing for us here or at home save wasted efforts or an empty future. The Garleans have won this land. Do we not respect the strong? The Domans are not even our people and yet you prefer the life a caged Yol to one of travel and the glory Nhaama urges us to seek.”_

_As though she had not heard, she continued to stare. Then, she let her eyes drift away to the false window, the tips of her finger resting on the journal beneath her pillow._

_She gave him only silence._

12th Month – Waxing Crescent 

_She woke, the soft light of the lantern in her room giving a butterfly-patterned glow to her surroundings. Still lying down, she reached out and ran a finger across the edge of it, curious as to who it once belonged to._

_There was a soft shuffling outside of her door_ — _the sound of someone turning over. She tensed a moment and then relaxed when she noted it was just someone moving in their sleep._

_Orika rolled to her other side to look at the paper door. The light showed her a faint silhouette and she traced it with her eyes. Her expression saddened and she turned to lie on her back. A soft and quiet melody escaped her lips and she sung herself to sleep._

12th Month – 2nd Full Moon 

_Orika had awoken to a small group of soldiers marching down the hall to her room. She uttered a curse and sat up, coaxing her face into a mask. They opened the sliding door and ordered her to dress. When she turned her head away, they just moved and carried her, as she was, outside._

_She chose to not struggle, uninterested in an unnecessary battle that could drain strength she might need shortly. Though she could not see where they were headed from her place upon a much larger soldier’s shoulder, the sound of a familiar laugh chilled her core and filled her with rage._

_She was in the garden, colloquially named so by the servants not for an actual designed and tended collection of flora, but for the scattered-about flowers in each broken home before the castle marking the place where a resident was cut down. It was the only honor the people could give them under the circumstances_ — _quiet and unnoticed. Her somber observation was cut short when she was dumped on the ground so that the soldiers might salute._

_“Lord Zenos!”_

_Before her sat the man who’d denied her death and did her the dishonor of capture. He sat upon a makeshift throne leaning his head on one fist with a lazy, yet still predatory, smile on his face._

_“This is the entrance you've chosen to make before your lord?”_

_She was dropped on her feet, scowling, in a large open space between the buildings. Orika did not bother to conceal her hostility._

_“I see no lord of mine.”_

_His smile became a smirk and he raised a brow. “Is that so?”_

_The blond man shifted his posture and reclined back in his seat, and raised his right hand, gesturing with his fingers. A loud whirring began, and from behind one of the buildings a large, mechanical soldier stood. It walked out, shaking the earth Orika stood upon. She ignored it, not wanting to turn her back on Zenos._

_“When my father saw fit to conquer this land, I did not expect to find such entertainment. The food, and the finer pleasures are no more appealing than those of my homeland… but their weapons are charming, and the people…”_

_The machine was still stomping forward, and ceased when it some thirty yalms away. This time Zenos raised his left hand, and a nearby soldier threw a staff before her._

_“The people were more interesting before they lost their fight. Perhaps you might let me sample yours in their stead?”_

_Orika didn't wish to give the man anything he wanted, but she'd seen what happened when the servants disobeyed. It was quite common for one other than themselves to be punished in front of them for whatever they had done. Orika didn't know who they might choose to fight in her place, but she wasn't willing to find out. She looked at the staff and back to Zenos, whose face had lost its look of amusement and now regarded her with a cold, calculating gaze._

_With clenched teeth barely restricting her tongue, she lifted the weapon and took up a battle stance._

——

_In less time than she had expected, Orika had defeated the mechanical warrior, but the exertion of the fight caught up to her all at once and Orika collapsed. Zenos rose from his throne, moving to circle her like carrion ‘round a corpse._

_“Tell me, woman. Weakened as you are you are still a finer warrior than your partner. Why did you allow him to win? Did you enjoy it, being reduced to this pathetic state?”_

_He stopped, kneeling so that he might grab her by the chin, forcing her eyes on his._

_“I can see it, that you could be so much...more. Do you not know your own strength?”_

_Orika shook her face from his grasp._

_“You wouldn't understand.”_

_His expressionless eyes scanned her own for a few moments before he suddenly laughed. It was short, low sound._

_“Perhaps not.”_

12th Month – 2nd Full Moon 

_Orika was rarely able to exit her room without the expectation of being made to fight different machines to test them, or groups of soldiers for similar reasons. She stretched out an arm, her wrist a little thinner than it had been but thankfully still with some strength left in it. This lifestyle was wearing her down. Orika realized she had paused in her walk down the hall, and readjusted the clothing she was carrying to look a little more busy._

_This day, she was walking to bathe with the servants of the castle. It seemed the one who typically brought her baths to her was no longer there. Looking at the faces that occasionally passed her by, they were all mostly new to her. There were few left in the group that had been brought to the castle with her, all the missing probable victims to the myriad punishments from those in charge of the place, or the young warlord's bloodthirsty whims. She closed her eyes and held what she carried closer._

_This could not be made to last._

12th Month – Waning Gibbous 

_The servants looked at her differently now. Hidden, hopeful glances, and the occasional smile aimed her way whenever the guards weren't looking. That day in the baths proved fruitful, as they had quietly agreed they would find a way out. Speaking in riddles and metaphors they made their plans, then separated as if nothing had happened._

_Orika smiled to herself until a slide of a palm on the frame of her door alerted her to someone's presence. Her face was a calm mask when Yesun walked in._

_“In one month, they will rotate the soldiers. The ironmen are expanding their empire once again, and this conquered land will be home to their training warriors. I want to join them.”_

_Orika stared at the wall opposite of her_

_“I want_ us _to join them.”_

_When she gave him no answer, he threw a small, embroidered bag to the floor and left, leaving a servant to close the door._

_Some bells later she looked within it and found chewy, pastel-colored sweets, completely unlike anything they had ever tried back —_

_Home._

_As much as she hated her partner's actions, she still wanted to end this without killing him. In truth, she had little interest in returning home to the Dotharl, with her place there never feeling as comfortable as it could have, and the excitement of traveling alone with her lover having been an addictive feeling. She saw little reason to go anywhere, or on at all without him. Nhaama might forgive her weakness, with her own heart having been swayed so by her beloved, but some romantic part of her clung to the belief that with time, he might come to understand that he had sided with a force beyond foul. She hoped that he might finally_ listen _to her. Perhaps it was just too noisy here, with all the wasteful, one-sided conflict of this land, and them being so close to the instigators. Who knew what they might be filling his head with when she could not be there. But maybe, when they escaped, he would follow, and the distance between the ironmen and them all would help them sort it out, otherwise..._

12th Month – 3rd Waning Half Moon 

_Like they had planned, Orika had destroyed half of the dressing table in her room in what she made to look like a fit of rage following one of Yesun's visits. They called up the servants to repair the damage and one of her allies offered, looking hesitant as he described himself as a former carpenter with experience in working fine metals and patterns. It was all for show however, to give him the opportunity to craft her a new staff and conceal it there. He did much of the work in her room, allowed to bring along his son to fetch materials as he needed them._

_This was the third and final day of his work. Though Yesun frequently hovered behind the paper door when he was not out with the Garleans' army, they were unconcerned they'd be discovered. The carpenter's work looked innocent enough, and the two spoke in riddles and poetic observations whenever they needed to exchange words._

_His son was old enough to understand them, yet young enough to mind it not, and enjoyed his time playing in the large room when he wasn't needed. Orika felt her heart warm when she turned away from the fading light of the window to see him trying to figure out the workings of the intricate jewelry box on her dresser. The months so far had left little room for such play, but perhaps similar sights would not be uncommon for these people when they left._

_She glanced at the doorway, and after listening a few moments noted that Yesun was not there. She stood and walked a few steps to the folded futon on the floor, and reached under it to find her diary._

_“What's that?”_

_The carpenter's son had followed her, losing interest in the jewelry box for the moment._

_“It is a place to keep the thoughts I do not wish to forget.”_

_“What sort of thoughts,” he asked, sitting down. “Like important ones?”_

_“To me, yes. Meetings I want to remember....beginnings, endings, names...but sometimes I just have feelings I don't have words for, and the only way they go away is when I write whatever is happening down.”_

_“Oh...can I see it?”_

_Orika shook her head. She sat down to meet his eye level._

_“This is secret, so no one else may look,” she said, placing one finger to her lips. “Although...It was to be a gift once.”_

_She ran her fingers across the cover, tracing the tiny ridges that outlined its pattern._

_“I had a friend who was sick. I wanted to show him many things, and so I started this. Once I reached the end of my journey, I would give it to him as a present, so that he might see how far we'd come.”_

_“But we were stuck here, so you can't see him.”_

_He looked down sadly, if not a little guiltily. Orika used the diary to tap him on the nose, and gave him a small smile._

_“Not for much longer.”_

_The carpenter let out a long whistle as he finished his work, and beckoned her over for inspection. She rose, her determined gaze looking not just at the staff before her, but beyond to their goal._

1st Month – Waxing Gibbous

_The woman's brother had been caught stealing food from the castle, and when she saw him being walked outside by the soldiers for his punishment, she had attacked them to give him a chance to run. The carpenter had been inspecting a shipment of wood outside when he saw his wife struggling. He jumped between them and was quickly beaten down himself._

_Orika witnessed it all some yalms away, having been sent to fight a small group of soldiers outside the castle for the purpose of their training. She immediately recognized those involved, but did nothing at first, not willing to risk their careful plans unraveling based on her own impulses. But the sounds of their distress carried far, and stung deep. While the brother had been shot before he could make it to either bridge or water, it was clear the couple would find a sure, but much slower death. Orika dispatched the last of the trainees around her and walked coolly over to the scene._

_“What noise is this? Your lord is the one that has me testing your peers, and yet here you are disturbing my focus.”_

_The soldiers stopped their attack, mostly surprised by the usually silent prisoner's sudden speech. The most clearly injured of the bunch was the first to recover and replied._

_“These thieves had the...the audacity to steal from the castle- while His Grace slumbers on the grounds even! They must be punished with death.”_

_“You are making rather slow work of it.”_

_“And you are suggesting you might do better?”_

_All heads immediately turned to the entrance hall of the castle, where the Lord's son had just emerged. The soldiers bowed, but Orika remained upright. It was a fight to keep her face in its mask, and the way he eyed her made it seem he could see that._

_“My lord! What brings you he-”_

_Zenos struck the man down before he could finish speaking, not even sparing a glance to them._

_“I was not speaking to you.”_

_“Only that they should quicken their work or cease it entirely,” she said, as though they hadn't been interrupted._

_“Indeed. This was unnecessary, and far too loud.”_

_The man closed his eyes and shrugged. “I would have preferred to remain asleep. But the matter of their punishment still stands.”_

_He closed the distance between himself and the group, looking thoughtful. He smiled once he stood before the couple on the ground._

_“I’ve dirtied my blade enough today. Shall we instead feed them to the dogs?”_

_The blond eyed the bruised couple on the floor, genuinely thinking it over as if it were any other practical matter._

_Orika wished to move, to act. But when she looked into the eyes of the husband, she saw him pleading for restraint. He'd acted out of love, and so had his wife, but it had been too rash. Any further action could not only endanger their son, but the lives of every other hopeful escapee. It was over for them, and she couldn't do anything about that. But she could have influence over the how of their exit._

_“Move.” she said, and his eyes flashed dangerously, instantly locking on to hers. “And I will finish them.”_

_“Will you...” He raised one eyebrow, now amused and interested. “Do so, then.”_

_Orika breathed in deeply, and turned her back to him, facing the two lying on the floor. The soldiers backed away, unsure of what she was going to do. She raised up the staff she'd been given to train with, and began gathering energy. The air around her quivered, and heated, sweat gathering on her own brow with the channeling of a spell she hadn't cast since the last Naadam._

_“Out of the ground, gather and wreathe in flame...”_

_Though she shut out much of the world save for what was in front of her, she could still feel the young lord's presence behind her. She wished he were the one on the ground._

_“Destructive power of nature, burning hotter than the stars...”_

_She raised her staff up higher wondering a few moments if the man behind her could survive even this, but she was weaker than she'd been upon arriving here, and not once on any occasion she had been made to fight had he reacted with anything resembling fear. She poured her frustration out, and what had started as a few small orbs of flame had grown into one large one above her, resembling a smaller sun. She would make it instant._

_“Sear the flesh before me with your judgment!”_

_Orika put her whole body into swinging the staff down, and the flaming orb covered the forms before her entirely. It burned for a few moments, and dissipated, revealing only a singed metal pipe and comb. Caring not for the gawking of the soldiers, and unwilling to see the expression on the warlord's son's face, she picked up the remains and declared that she was tired, walking off into the castle's interior and leaving behind echoing laughter. Though she was near collapsing from her spent mana, she refused to let any of them see her fall. Not when she still had something to do._

_It took nearly a quarter bell, but her brisk walk eventually carried her to a room where she found the carpenter's son making small repairs on various wooden trinkets for whatever noble's fancy. He looked up at her curiously, and she presented the burnt items to him. He stared silently, waiting several moments before taking them._

_“They won't come back again.”_

_Orika did not reply to the quiet statement._

_He placed them inside a hidden pocket lining his outfit, and looked back up at her, lost. Slowly, he began to walk out of the room, and Orika followed him, not complaining when he reached out to hold her hand, instead tightening her grip. Eventually, the pair of soldiers meant to watch her as she roamed in the castle caught up to them, obviously out of breath from their search. She ignored their presence, and continued to walk the length of the halls with steady steps, unsure of what she could say to the boy._

_These people, brave as they were, were not Dotharl. There was little to no chance they would ever see another life. Worse yet, they could be cursed to unlife not just by the hands of others, but by the weight of their own feelings. Their loving attachments could become binding chains, preventing them from ever leaving this place. And besides such morbid thoughts, there was the fact that they had lost two people important to their cause and-_

_The young hyur beside her had stopped walking and begun to cry. She stopped too, and let him for several minutes. Behind them one of the soldiers raised a weapon, clearly intending to strike him to keep him moving, but the sharp and wild eye she turned on them made them freeze. She kneeled down and lifted the boy, continuing their walk to the servants' chambers. When they arrived, another from his village came to her and took him from her, speaking to him in hushed tones and looking to Orika remorsefully. The Au Ra bowed deeply, and left for her own chambers._

_In all her life, she had not felt grief over a single kill. This would be both first and last._

1st Month – Full Moon 

_“Why won't you look at me?!”_

_Orika had gone on a hunger strike some days before, so that they might send more frequent meals from the kitchens. The mana she had spent on the carpenter and his wife had completely drained her, so she drank up the tea-diluted ethers while ignoring the food on her plate. Yesun was growing angry at what looked to him to be her giving up. He talked and raised the food to her lips but she kept her head turned away and her eyes unfocused._

_“Just meet my eyes, once...”_

_The uncharacteristically soft request made her shudder, but she continued to ignore him otherwise, closing her eyes and lying down._

1st Month – 2nd Waning Crescent 

_“The prince is gone, most of the soldiers have been sent to the land in the west...this is our day.”_

_Long after the moon had risen but still with time before her lover brought himself into the sky, the servants ready to flee gathered in their room. As planned, Orika had taken out her guards, and met up with them. Now, each and every person who could fight would lead a charge out of the castle. They had already set explosives at various points within and without to distract their once-and-no-longer captors while they ran across the bridge. Their plan was to then scatter to the northeast, taking shelter wherever they could while the faster ones kept a straight line in the cardinal directions to draw the soldiers’ noses away from those who couldn't keep up._

_It proceeded smoothly, the group collectively taking out the soldiers they encountered and making it into Monzen. They were just outside of it when Orika heard a familiar pair of footsteps sprinting behind them. Yesun had awoken, and found them missing. He let out a wordless roar raising his blade and swinging it towards her as he caught up. She blocked the first blow, and prepared to fight him once more, but instead of engaging her, he clenched his teeth and leaped behind her._

_“Damned Domans, I'll get every single one!”_

_Orika quickly cast a spell that left his feet covered in ice before he could get more than a handful of yalms away. He brought down his sword to crack it open and yelled in frustration as it broke._

_“Why...why do they matter so much to you?! They've ruined you as a warrior, led you to captivity, and still you fight!”_

_He turned around to face her, shaking the hair from his maddened eyes._

_“I'll find them, and I'll end them; even if you insist on being the first to fall!”_

_Yesun sprung into the air only a moment later, cleaving the ground near Orika. Such an attack was relatively easy for her to dodge with the distance he had to cover, and she knew right away this would be messy, with him wasting movements like this. She had to disable him, without hurting him, and without letting him hurt himself._

_He gave her little time for her considerations, dragging himself up with shaky but forceful steps, pausing only a moment at his full height before he was swinging his way towards her again. Orika threw up a shield of mana, and when his blade bounced off of it took the moment the stunning blow gave her to bind his movements. Once he was bound she cast her longer sleep spell, but it had no effect on him in his frenzied state. She muttered a curse, and braced herself for the next attack._

_“Stop holding back!” He yelled as he hit her staff over and over._

_Orika could feel it growing ever more brittle in her hands as she parried his blows, but didn't want to use her limited mana on a spell she wasn't sure could knock him out in one hit. Her reserves had dwindled with the stress on her body the past couple of months, and she'd already spent quite a bit helping the Domans escape._

_She dropped down suddenly, forcing him to swing into nothing, and kicking out his legs so that his own momentum carried him forward into the dirt. He recovered quickly enough, but she herself had already put some distance between the two of them, and was halfway through a long spell that would bombard him with icy winds; hopefully easing the process of disarming him and making him more susceptible to Sleep. He was running towards her, blade first, when she faltered._

_“Orika!”_

_The carpenter's boy and the kitchen maid had returned, unable to leave her to her fight, though they themselves had no combat skills of their own. The completely unexpected distraction interrupted her spell and drew her eyes away from the man before her, which only served to anger him, urging him forward until he had run her through._

_She dropped her staff, and the maid wrapped her hands over the eyes of the boy, both gasping with shock. A handful more of the Domans better equipped for battle who had noticed the other two missing came upon the scene, and when they saw what was happening grew distraught. But they persisted in their goal to retrieve the maid and the boy, carrying the two away so that they could avoid the eyes of whatever soldiers might come to the aid of the Garleans in the castle._

_Orika was calm, leaning forward against his chest, though Yesun was anything but as he looked down at the blood beginning to run over his knuckles. Though they'd come to blows earlier, she hadn't bled like this. Her unfocused eyes were finally looking into his own, but instead of promising to remain, they whispered that she would soon leave._

_“I...want to lie down.”_

_He tried to quell the trembling of his hands as he pulled his greatsword from her chest, wincing at the sound it made. But once he was done, he laid her down as she asked._

_Her blinking had slowed, and she looked confused._

_“Why are you upset...?”_

_She was obviously disoriented, reaching up her right hand to brush his bangs away from his cheek, and she had asked her question in a way so unconcerned and unguarded Yesun felt as though they were back home._

_“We should have never left the Steppe...”_

_Some recognition appeared on her face, and Orika seemed to remember what was going on once more._

_“You were not... happy there. I was glad to be together, wherever we might have been, but though you could not see the shape of it for being within, there was a cloud upon your heart.”_

_Orika closed her eyes for several moments, and opened them only slightly to speak again._

_“In my foolishness, I brought us here, and yet I've only seen it grow. I wonder...was it I who placed it upon you? I thought I was doing this for you, but could being alone with just myself have harmed you so much?”_

_Her voice wavered near the end, and Yesun watched tears well up in her eyes for the first time. A drop rolled down her face, but it wasn't her own. Yesun found it was himself crying._

_Before coming to Doma, he had never once shed a tear, and yet since their arrival, at least once a week his weakness had bled out of him. When Orika's own tears finally started falling, he gritted his teeth and spoke._

_“You couldn't hurt me. You've barely tried, even though... even though I wanted you to! Every battle between us you've lost. You could've killed me, easily!”_

_His nose had become stuffed up, but he went on._

_“Being near you... is the only thing that ever felt good. Why did you have to help them... why couldn't you just be mine?”_

_He brought his forehead down to hers, and squeezed his eyes more tightly than he was willing to hold her hands. “Why is it that I’m like this…?”_

_She drew in a long, quiet breath._

_“There's a better life than this one, for all of us. You can be so...much...Yesun...I wanted...find...”_

_A bird flew by overhead, singing a short phrase out of its song. Orika hummed a bit, mimicking it. He waited patiently for her to finish, but the words didn't come. She soon sighed softly, and her breath was no more._

_He stayed frozen for an immeasurable amount of time, ignoring the barked questions of the soldiers who ran past him in search of the escapees. Eventually he stood, carrying Orika to a large rock nearby and propping her up against it. He lifted up the broadsword and wrapped her hands around the hilt. He stood at the opposite end, bracing his palms on either side of the blade._

_“I don't want to live in a place without you and your song.”_

_With a face that seemed unaffected by pain, focused only on the body in front of him, he pressed forward, letting the sword pierce his own chest until he could rest his cheek beside her own._


	2. Part Two

Orika found herself back in the present with a dry mouth and eyes that refused to open. With some rubbing, she found they had gotten stuck together with the crust that formed when too much water gathered there for too long. Once clear, she saw that daylight had come.

There had been so much...too much...

Orika didn't know what to do. She had found what she had been chasing, and the weight of her own story wore her down. It wouldn't be fixed with sleep, or food, or any of the myriad niceties she had come to know of through her friends and family in the Steppe. It couldn't be fixed when the one she thought could help her fix herself was gone forever. She was an entire lifetime away from it all but it still hurt so much she felt her chest aching with the scream she couldn't let out; a weak echo of the pain of the wound that had killed her.

She hated and loved him, loathed knowing she shared his restlessness, and in the end, unfixable heart, and frustratedly aware the lingering affections she felt for him might just have been a memory. She hated her old self for trying to save them all instead of choosing just one of them or herself, but Orika also wished  _ so _ dearly she could live up to her standard— to have her power, and the ability to maintain conviction despite her hopeless cause. She hated the Garleans and that dead-eyed man, hated this land, but could see in it the beauty that had once led her here. She hated yet admired the tenacity of its fallen people, who were stronger than her current self in every possible way.

When she looked at the sleeping form of the man who had held on to her diary, she found herself angry for him having called out to her, then and now. But she could see in him the boy whose parents she had killed, flooding her with regret. Here was also the man who despite that had held on to her important things for all these years, who had found her weapons and helped to return them to her people, even with all the danger involved.

Orika glanced around the mostly empty home, noticing the pile of clothes in need of mending, and thought of the state the village had been in upon her arrival. Some thirteen years since, and the ironmen  _ still _ marched across this land, with its people firmly under their heels. A life like this, paid for in her blood, and that of so many others, seemed hardly worth the cost.

Unable to settle on what emotion to express, she chose to show nothing. Orika pushed her heart and mind to a distance that let her breathe once more and steadied herself.

A bell or so following her awakening from her visions, Genta stirred, and rose up. When he saw her awake at the table, having hardly moved from where she'd been when he closed his eyes, he looked concerned.

“Did you...sleep at all?”

She didn't know how to answer that, but as she wasn't ready to speak anyway, she simply shrugged. He seemed like he wanted to ask more, but he shook his own head, and started to straighten up his home. When he had finished, they sat with a heavy silence. Genta eventually cleared his throat, and somewhat nervously asked her a question.

“I don't really know how you'd feel about it, with it bein' an odd sort of question, though, maybe it isn't so strange to you... But....would you want to see your grave?”

——

She followed him quietly, having left her pack behind, but holding on to her weapons tightly. The path was a difficult one to walk with the road being non-existent.

“The few of us left only ever come up here once a year, so there isn't much of a road to walk on. Sorry,” he'd said just before they began to make their way east.

With just a few jumps over parts of the mountain side that were significantly less stable compared to the months after her last death, they made it. Genta stepped away several yalms to a place where he could pick up some materials he might need back home, giving Orika time and space to do what she needed.

She didn't feel anything looking down on the barely-marked grave; not even a little temptation to look within it. Though her people didn't believe in them, preferring to leave their corpses to animals and the elements, it didn't hurt her to leave this plot as it was. Instead, she stuck her staff in the ground beside it.

“I may have once wielded you, but you should have been buried with me. The person I am now can no longer use you.”

Orika then took the sword off of her back, and held it up in both of her hands. Inscribed upon the hilt of the blade, barely visible for the small font, was the word “Emele”. If that were the name of the crafter, the weapon itself, or some other word without meaning to her, she couldn't be sure.

The sight of it filled her with a thousand curses: some for the world as it was, some for the former owner, some for herself, and a few for her god, having chosen to give her life anew and let it be tainted with the history she had learned. Was there not a warrior more deserving? Still, for all the negative emotions that flowed through it, she could not let it go. Until she could make sense of herself, she would keep it.

Genta approached from behind, having filled a basket with the ores, wood, and other vegetation he needed for whatever work he wanted to complete. He called out to her gently.

“Um, Orika. I...I'm sorry. It's selfish, but I've always wanted to apologize to you, for distracting you and...”

He shuffled a bit, the years of buried guilt falling off his face and making it look more youthful.

“I'm sorry. I didn't want you to die, I just...even though I couldn't I hoped I could help. Mari too. She's passed on by now, but we used to talk about it. And...”

Though she had not yet turned, she could now feel him staring right at her. “I wanted to thank you. When all around you share the burden, it gets easier to bear, but it can also be difficult to imagine being rid of it. Without an outsider like you, I don't know how many of us would still be stuck in that castle, or if we would have lived as long as we did, if we even lived at all.”

Orika spun on him, brows furrowed.

“What...what do you thank me for? It was I who killed your parents! I remember... And what life was won? You are alone, your homes want for warmth and repairs, and the ironmen  _ still  _ roam these lands. They could return at any moment to start it all over again! I am not who I was, and  _ you _ may no longer be the boy you were, but you don't think yourself ready to face an army most certainly grown more powerful since then, do you?”

He looked surprised by her outburst, but before he could form a reply Orika tensed, dropped the blade, and jumped at him, pushing him down. The ground where they had been standing a few moments before was pelted by bullets, leaving it riddled with holes and smoking. The sound the multitudinous impacts made left their ears ringing with a harsh song, and it took Orika several moments to regain her senses. She had not before faced weapons such as this, but the intent behind them was clear, and she stood quickly, running for the broadsword she'd left on the ground. She looked at the glinting metal that had caught her eye and alerted her to the danger, and with a bit of focus discerned the shapes of 4 people in metallic garb. The Ironmen. They were messing around with long tubes and filling them up with...something. Recalling her visions, these were long distance weapons—guns—and they would easily pass through what she was wearing. She had only a few breaths before they were ready, so she made use of them going back to Genta and raising the sword up to block what she could of their vital organs. Their shots weren't very accurate from so far away, so most of the bullets missed them or were deflected. Still, she heard Genta cry out when one struck his leg. A quick glance at the exposed skin and she noted that while painful, it wouldn't be impossible for him to run.

While the ironmen were readying more shots, Orika dragged Genta to his feet and tugged at his arm, urging him to run. The pain caused his hand to squeeze hers too tightly but she simply endured it as they crossed over the rocks and foliage to find temporary shelter in a low cave.

“I don't understand how they found us,” He gritted out, holding onto his leg to still it as she poured a flask of rice wine he'd been carrying over it and bound it with cloth. “The Garleans never come here. There have always been rumors of spirits more trouble than they're worth to deal with. There're better quality places to gather wood, and the ore here isn't easy to shape. Were they following us this whole time?”

Orika shook her head.

“I am unfamiliar with this territory, but I would have noticed someone tailing us for that long.”

“I haven't felt this bad in a long time,” he laughed.

“Be silent, or prepare to feel worse.”

She listened carefully for signs the soldiers might be near before exiting the cave and scouting with her eyes. She found none, yet, but knew it wouldn't be long before one found them. And so, she would seek them out first. If she picked them off from behind, one by one, they would survive this encounter just fine. Then, she needed only encourage the local beasts to feed on their remains-

Orika blinked herself out of her thoughts for a moment. Sneaking up on her kills? Concealing the method of death? It was contrary to everything she had done back home; most definitely not the Dotharli way. Sure, she had hidden herself to rush more quickly to her goal on the way here, but she had already accomplished it. If she chose to, she could leave this place, and leave this stranger to their fate. It was enough that she had attended to his wound, and his clothing did not stand out in this land as hers did. If he remained deep in the cave for the next day or two, wounded or not he would certainly escape their eyes. There might truly be something in the air here, she thought, because the moon had yet to make one full phase and already she was falling into the role her past self had taken up. Would she repeat their mistakes?

She held herself tightly, claws and scales leaving soft imprints on her upper arm. She could remember her frustration at the end of her vision when he called out to to the other her, and their shocked concern. She could remember the bitter taste of watching her past self carry the crying shape, and how badly she wanted to shed tired tears herself. She took note of the anguish of her past self's capture, and the elation she'd felt as her former self when seeing the Domans run ahead of her when they finally escaped.

She made her choice.

Orika returned to the cave, raising a finger to her lips and then gesturing for Genta to lie low. With the speed she was not often able to show off while she had bound herself to casting only spells, she ran, ducked, and jumped as silently as she could through underbrush, and then rock. Ahead of her, she saw the back of one soldier. She had driven the sword she carried through his back before she even realized she had drawn it. It felt natural—too natural considering her lack of practice with it. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but she also found its weight barely-noticeable.

With one down, she had three to find.

——

Two more fell at nearly the same time, with the first's strangled call for backup bringing the other to her to finish off. Orika was glad for all the excess training she had gone through the past year, with her debut as a fighting member of her tribe in the Naadam having been planned for the following year. Without it, she doubted she could have held her own as well, but still, she was growing both tired and anxious. Quite a long time had passed and she was far from where she'd left Genta. Not willing to move further away in search of the fourth, she sprinted back towards their hiding place.

Though running like that wasn't going to keep her well-hidden from the enemy, with there only being one remaining she saw no sense in practicing stealth. She wanted them to come to her so she might finish this now and get herself and Genta back to the village.

Orika closed her eyes tightly as she pushed through leaves and branches to get to the other side of a thick bush, just some yalms from the small cave. She had almost all of herself through when the sound of a gun going off ahead of her snapped her eyes open. There was a brief moment of hesitation, another gunshot, and then she was tearing her ankle free of the bush, sprinting as quickly as she could. 

At the mouth of the cave, the remaining soldier had heard her wild approach and was ready, firing as she came into sight. But Orika was ready, too, having had the sword out ahead of her. As they aimed for her again, she took the sword and pulled her arms back, throwing them forward again with all her might with a yell to send the blade careening into the soldier’s gut. The flat edge was what landed on them, but she'd only needed a few moments to follow up behind the blade, leaping on their chest and tearing first at their helmet, and then at their face with her hands. She didn't stop yelling until the body beneath her lie still. Her blood thundered in her ears as it flowed through her with the heavy, frenzied beats of her heart.

A weak cough roused her from her stupor, and she stumbled her way over to Genta, falling to her knees to examine him.

“Sor....” 

Genta hissed and bit his lip. Now, in addition to the one on his leg, there was one wound on his stomach and one just below the right side of his clavicle. Now expecting the pain, he kept talking.

“...made you fight for me again.”

“You didn't,” she paused, clenching both fists. “...make me do anything.”

He struggled to sit upright, but Orika shook her head and held him down.

“Don't move! I have to stop the bleeding.”

She looked back and forth between the wounds, choosing to take his hands and help him start applying pressure to the more bloodied hole on his stomach. When she moved her own away to start tearing up cloth for a bandage, he reached up and placed his hand on her arm and looked up at her.

“You asked me why I was grateful, earlier. My parents... they always wanted me to take up carpentry. I never was as talented as my father, but I liked the work, and the skill I could offer to my neighbors in need.”

Genta turned his head to look at the cave entrance, and the blue sky of the morning.

“I'm grateful to have had a chance to fulfill their dream. They died working to help me escape, so I thought I at least owed them that. But my dream...”

He kept staring out, mouth slightly agape, without blinking.

“Finish...finish what you were saying.”

Genta blinked once more.

“I... just wanted to see them again.”

——

She buried Genta in the manner of his people, in the soft dirt near her own grave.

——

The next few days passed by in a blur. She laid on the floor of Genta's empty floor, occasionally looking at the diary, and then away. This day, her gaze fell to her hands, still red with the blood that stained them. She parted her cracked lips, wordlessly moving them as she thought.

_ I couldn't help but repeat my mistakes. Like always, for all my efforts... _

She flexed her hand closed and open. Night was falling again, and Orika didn't wish to stay there any longer. She stood up, shakily, and left the home dragging her sword.

She chose the main road this time, walking aimlessly. There would be no returning to the Dotharl, weak and incomplete. She didn't want to face Ghoa, who had warned her of this journey. As it was—be it optimism or sympathy—she simply couldn't bear any of it. Her own emotions were so heavy the thought of holding another’s made her stumble. Though she would not return home, and would not stay, she also didn't plan on handing the ironmen an easy kill. She was no longer feeling the need to hide, and would let any others that sought her out chase her, and fight them until she couldn't anymore.

The sky was dark now, and Orika looked up to examine the face of the moon. Large and bright, it shone down, illuminating bits of the landscape around her. She wished she could hear the voice of her god, as the Mol did, so that she might know what to do. But no matter how long she waited, there would be no answer.

A soft clacking was approaching her from behind, but she chose to ignore it. It held not the heavy march of the ironmen's footsteps, nor did it have the many-footed sound of a cluster of bandits. Whoever they were would pose no threat, so she continued observing the moon. The sounds slowed and stopped behind her, so with great irritation she pulled her tired eyes away from the moon and turned around.

It was a small, roofed cart drawn by a horse with a rider sitting upon them. They looked much older than herself, and seemed shocked.

“Your garb...”

She frowned slightly, the rest of her expression looking unaffected. Then, it dawned on her that her clothing marked her as an outsider. In fact, it was possible the last time the Domans had seen the traditional clothing of the Dotharl was when her former self had been here. If the once-captive villagers had only taken her body and left Yesun’s, then they might have assumed she still roamed somewhere, alive. Though there were some differences in her appearance now, of course any ironman who saw one dressed just like her, with their distinctive horns, would probably have been told at some point to kill her on sight. It may have left her upon her reincarnation, but for them the memory of her defiance had surely earned an enduring grudge.

And if that was the case, Genta had died because of her thoughtlessness.

“Could you somehow be…”

Their words made her aware of her surroundings once more.

“Will you be friend or foe?” she replied, placing one hand on her sword. 

“Friend, friend! No need for violence…”

“I am Orika.”

The stranger paused a few moments. “I am Reiko. You have never known me, but my husband and I are friends to the people of Namai and Kikuuda. It was I...who helped transport your body, and my husband who took the sword you now carry to your home, though it seems you've returned with it. What brings you back here?”

Orika shook her head free of the still fresh memories. “I need to leave.”

Eyeing Orika's torn expression and body language, Reiko silently tapped the side of her face with one finger before grasping the reins more tightly with both hands. 

“Well, I'm on my way to Kugane delivering materials for a stage play. If you'd like you can accompany me.”

“If you would take me elsewhere, I will go.”

——

The ride was spent quietly, Orika carefully not thinking, and just absorbing the scenery they passed from her place beneath the many fabrics Reiko had with her. They went unbothered, making it to the Ruby Sea without incident. Reiko paid their toll and they crossed the sea, cart and all, landing on the shores of Kugane within a day and a half. 

Orika was given a new set of clothes upon their arrival: a short kimono and a pair of tights. Reiko talked to her of the city's history and had a great deal of fun styling her hair anew to better blend with the people of Kugane. Though it was clear Orika's attention was elsewhere, the older woman seemed content as it was.

“My husband is no longer in this world.”

Orika silently lifted her eyes to look in the mirror across from her, and meet the bittersweet smile of Reiko.

“We never got to have a child between us, and whatever circumstances brought you here, I'm glad to have a chance to dress you up like this. I know you carry a burden that weighs upon your voice, but still, I thank you for your company. Now, let us make that delivery, shall we? If you're willing to help.”

Orika nodded, blinking rapidly as her new bangs shifted across her forehead. She stood and followed Reiko out of the inn room.

——

The two arrived at the large theatre and immediately headed backstage with their wares. Several actors inspected them, and the owner found himself so satisfied in addition to the payment, he offered seats in the evening show: The last run that month of The Bamboo Cutter’s Tale.

They took their place in the third row, and the play began.

Orika was struck immediately by the beauty of the actors, their clothes, the set, and the effects. It was as if she were watching a Qalli performance again, but somehow more decorative. Her heart ached for her place in their huts, but the narrative soon took all her attention.

The main character was born in a place not her own, but still managed to find a home. When she grew however, she was accosted endlessly by those who sought out to put her in a role she did not wish to fill. In fact she could not, because she was always meant to fulfill a different purpose. In the end, she was delivered from her troubles by donning a shroud that left her disconnected from her earthly attachments, and returned to her kingdom on the moon.

Orika found that many parts of the story resonated with her deeply. 

_ ‘If only I too could wear such a garment.’ _

“Those actors were quite amazing. For a moment I thought Tsukuyomi* herself had descended from above. But the kami do not delight us with such visits these days.”

The younger Au Ra nodded, still caught up in their experience.

“Well then, let us end the night with a meal shall we?”

Reiko escorted Orika to a line of stalls and let her have her pick. Then, after filling themselves, she purchased a one night stay at the inn. The moment she lay upon a futon Reiko was fast asleep, but Orika was wide awake. Still musing, she went to the washroom. There, she stared deeply at her reflection in the mirror.

She looked so different like this, in the clothing of the Domans and with her hair this way. It was strange, but refreshing being separate in some ways from the Orika of that morning. Orika touched her face with both hands, just to remind herself it really was her looking back. When the skin of her palm brushed the scales on her cheeks however, she shivered, remembering the feeling of the warm earth in her hands as she buried Genta. 

What had Nhaama been thinking when she granted Orika life anew? It had to be obvious she was unworthy, then and now. Could the mother of dusk have some other plan for her? One she could actually fulfill without failing even through her best efforts? She slid her hands down from her face to hug herself tightly. She didn't want to feel like this anymore.

_ 'Would that my life and role could change as easily as that of those actors...' _

Was that so impossible? ...Maybe then, like the one who led the performance as the woman from the moon, she should try donning her own shroud, though it would not be something that could be seen. She would make the world her stage, and play the part of one unbound by mortal afflictions, ready to fulfill whatever it was Nhaama wished. Surely, then, she could find her way.

It was difficult to change things as she was, so she would first change her outlook. Orika had no need for love or sorrow. She would just look for things to enjoy while bettering her skills with the broadsword. If possible, it would be best to start in a land far away from this one. 

With those thoughts to soothe her, Orika left the washroom and found her own futon, falling into a dream filled with crystals and light.

——

When she woke in the morning, Reiko was already up.

“Good morning to you dear. They brought us a lovely breakfast.”

Orika was never one to linger in bed, so she stood with a stretch, walking over to the low table to join the elderly woman. She was talkative, and more than happy to carry the conversation along herself.

“...I must say though, I haven't had fun like last night since the last Ul'dahn festival I attended in Eorzea!”

Eorzea...? Something tugged at Orika and she stopped eating, and looked up at Reiko.

“Oh, are you interested? There's a land to the West known as Aldenard, as this continent we're on is known as Othard. There's a region there called Eorzea I frequent in my trading.”

She took a sip of her tea. 

“Compared to Doma it's a whole other set of worlds. It's quite amazing just how varied the cultures of each city state are, despite their close proximity to one another.”

“I...How would I go?”

Reiko thought for a few moments, tapping one finger on the side of her tea cup.

“Well, dear, I do have a Limsan contact I'm to meet in two weeks. I don't see the harm in making the journey a little early. What do you say to keeping this old woman company a little while longer?”

For the first time in her presence, Orika smiled. 

“Yes, I would like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *since Doman lore isn't 1-for-1 with Japanese history and mythology, and since Tsukuyomi's design seems to have Kaguya references, for the purposes of my story a version of the Kaguya tale is part 1 of Tsukuyomi's tale as a god.

**Author's Note:**

> Please see [Orika's Captivity Diary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28544064) for the actual entries rather than the flashbacks in this chapter. :3


End file.
